


Tick Tock

by fanfictiongreenirises



Series: Self-Indulgent Petty Revenge Fics [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is a freelance writer, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, School Shootings, Soulmate AU, and John is a youth counsellour, candlelit dinners because alex is a romantic, idc if america doesnt have nandos im including it bc a place that awesome deserves to be included, now includes alternate ending, numerous Taylor Swift references, points to those who can find all of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2018-12-11 22:48:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11724207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises
Summary: A soulmate AU where the timer on your wrist is counting down to something, but the 'something' is different for everyone. Also, it glows when you meet your soulmate.Alexander is a freelance writer, working part-time at a cafe. John is a youth counsellor. They meet at a rally after John gets into a fight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lesty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesty/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I've finally finished this???

Alexander walked out into the brisk winter air, tucking his face as deep as it could go into the nest of scarves wrapped around his neck without compromising his sight. Autumn leaves floated down around him as he shoved his hands into his pocket, falling like pieces in their place on the pavement. 

And suddenly, as he turned a corner and walked onto a main road, the world became less secluded and quiet and his ears filled with the sound of _people_. Cities were beautiful things, Alexander mused as he readjusted his shoulder bag. They were brimming with life and colour and diversity, and yet was also home to death and destruction. He’d been in numerous cities in his short life, and in so, so many different families who’d taken him in for a time, that he felt that he could fully appreciate how wondrous it was when people finally came together.

Alexander was at an anti-Trump rally. While it was true that he was being paid to be here, he would’ve come anyway; he’d had all his placards and pamphlets ready and waiting. But he couldn’t pass up a job. Being a freelance writer meant a lot of things, but mostly it meant that you never knew when the next payday would come. Alexander was realistic – he knew that writing wouldn’t pay the bills completely – so he worked part time at a café.

A loud screeching made Alexander’s head whip to the side. An elderly man – clearly above the age of fifty – was down on one knee in front of a woman who appeared to be roughly the same age as him. Judging by the facial expressions, she was the one who had yelled. Alexander walked closer to hear what was being said.

“… _you waited thirty-four years to propose to me, Fred?”_ she half-sobbed at him. 

The elderly man – Fred – smiled up at her. “My timer stopped at this exact moment! And I knew, Tracy, _I knew.”_

“ _Fred, you idiot, what if it was counting down to my fucking death_?”

Alexander liked this Tracy. God knew if he’d been dating someone for thirty-four years – his soulmate, nonetheless – who’d decided to wait until their timer ran down to propose, he’d’ve dropped them.

Each person had a timer on their right wrist, from the moment they were born. It counted down to a different thing for each person, and no two timers looked alike – Alexander’s was designed like a pocket watch, but had digital numbers – but the one thing that was universal was that they would glow when someone first met their soulmate. And this was the only time the soulmates would be able to see each other’s timers; while you could see everyone’s, you couldn’t read the numbers, and for soulmates, it was as if the timers weren’t there at all.

Alexander’s timer had about seven months to go, and he was becoming slightly nervous. He hadn’t heard of cases where the soulmate died upon the first encounter, but it was possible. Anything was possible.

“—great again!”

 _Oh my God,_ Alexander thought, mentally wincing. Who was this idiot who’d thought to come to an anti-Trump rally and spout his words?

Then, he heard a voice that made him smile.

“FIGHT ME!”

He needed to be where the action was. His profession called for it.

And so did his inner sense of justice.

As he neared the centre of the street, he saw a man dressed in a white tank top and obnoxiously tight pastel pink shorts standing there with an arrogant tilt of the chin. He was sporting a ‘Make America Great Again’ cap on his head, completing the douchebag look with white Nike shoes. Alexander was slightly disturbed that he could recognise them at a glance.

“…the middle of winter, asshat,” the man standing opposite him was saying, running his hand through his curly hair. “What the fuck are you wearing?” His shirt made Alexander smile: grey with ‘love is love is love is love’ written in massive writing, the word ‘love’ in rainbow colours. In his free hand, he was holding a placard with a drawing on it; Alexander couldn’t see it because of the angle.

“This,” Tank Top proclaimed loudly, voice taking on a reverent tone, “is the wife-beater I was wearing when I first heard _him_ speak.”

Alexander stared at him. Curly Hair stared at him. Everyone within hearing distance stared at him. 

Finally, Curly Hair spoke. “Who the fuck calls that a _wife-beater_? And I’m so sorry you got brain damage after that cheeto ball opened his mouth. I have a friend who can help with—”

Alexander didn’t know what happened, but suddenly Tank Top was charging towards Curly Hair and no one was doing anything to prevent the inevitable fight. Alexander didn’t either. Instead, he quickly got out his phone and began recording. It was a pain in the ass having to scrounge through YouTube for good quality videos and images, not to mention the copyright issues and having to pay them…

A chant had begun: “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Alexander felt like he was back in high school.

Curly Hair stood his ground, planting a leg behind him firmly and putting his placard down. Tank Top seemed intent on bowling him over – maybe he’d played football as a kid, or was into bull-wrestly – and Curly Hair still stood casually. Then, just as Tank Top’s arm wrapped around Curly Hair’s neck and shoulder, Curly Hair _bent backwards_ until he was basically upside down with his hands on the ground. The crowd lost it, whooping like mad as Tank Top, losing momentum, stumbled as he forced himself to come to a stop, and Curly Hair grinned at him cheekily as he performed a walkover. He then marched over to Tank Top and without a word, punched him.

Alexander, like the rest of the crowd, _oohed_ at the sight of Tank Top’s nose gushing blood. He looked like he was ready to punch back, but at that moment, two men wearing practically the same outfit as Tank Top walked up and grabbed him by the forearms, leading him away.

Alexander stopped filming, and rushed to Curly Hair. He needed an interview.

“Excuse me!” he called over the general din of the dissipating crowd.

Curly Hair looked around, stopping halfway through picking up his placard. When he noticed Alexander making a beeline for him, his face adopted a defensive look.

“Hey, man,” he said, standing up. He was slightly taller than Alexander, but honestly, who wasn’t? “I didn’t mean to cause—”

“No, no,” Alexander interrupted quickly. “No, I wanted an interview.”

Curly Hair had opened his mouth to say something, and paused for a second before saying, “Wait, what?”

“I’m a freelance writer, and I was hired to write an article on the rally. Basically any aspect of it. My commissioner doesn’t really mind. He’s great, actually,” he was rambling at this point. “And I think your story would be a good addition.”

“Well, sure,” a Southern twang emerged from his voice, and as Alexander made eye contact, he froze slightly. Curly Hair had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen, on a face with so many freckles it seemed to rob the rest of the human population of their share. “I’m John Laurens.”

John Laurens held his hand, and as Alexander went to shake it, he noticed something. His hand was glowing a soft green, brightest at his wrist…

_Oh my God._

He stared incredulously at John’s wrist, and sure enough, his was shining a soft yellow. He didn’t know what happened after this. _My hand's fucking glowing._  Were they meant to suddenly start dating or something?

“Um,” he began eloquently. “I’d still like that interview?”

John looked up at him, and began laughing. It was a glorious thing to behold: he threw his head back and laughed without care or shame. “Yeah, I’m still up for your interview.”

Alexander never glanced at John’s timer, and from what he knew, John never saw his either.

 

* * *

 

“So, you’re a youth counsellor?” Alexander asked as took a bite of the pasta he’d ordered.

A week after the rally, and he was sitting in a Nando’s booth on his first date with John. He couldn’t believe it. Soulmate hunting, as it was referred to, wasn’t even on his list, let alone at the bottom. But when life handed you cute freckly boys…

“Yeah,” John said, huffing out a laugh. “It isn’t what I pictured my life would lead to when I went to uni. I wanted to be a doctor, but psychology was calling to me.” His lips curved up into an easy smile and Alexander felt his insides melting slightly.

“A doctor, huh?” He smiled back, about to say something when he noticed something behind John. Or rather, some _one_. “Holy shit,” he whispered loudly, ducking his head in an attempt to not be seen.

“What?” John whispered back, leaning his head forward and practically touching noses with Alexander. “Is it an ex? I’ll totally pretend to not understand English with you if they come over.”

Alexander snorted. “Nah, it’s my roommate. He’s hiding behind a newspaper with holes cut into it for eyeholes. I’ve always wanted to do that.” He pouted slightly, and grinned inwardly as he saw John look down towards his mouth.

Suddenly, John leaned back and got out his phone.

“What’re you doing?” Alexander asked, still at a whisper. He had no idea why he was still whispering; the noise in the restaurant was enough to cover any conversation they were having.

“You’re pretending to take a photo of me and actually taking one of your roommate so I can see his newspaper disguise,” John informed him as he handed Alexander his phone.

Alexander gawked at him for a moment. For someone like him, who had trust issues, handing anyone his phone was not a small feat. He nodded once, and took the phone, stifling his laughter as he saw Hercules Mulligan through the camera on the phone. He was sitting beside a man wearing a pair of sunglasses with the year ‘2015’ designed onto them, his hair tied up into a ponytail.

When he handed the phone back to John, he shot straight up in his seat. “What the fuck?!”

“What?” Alex leaned forward to peer at the photo, wondering what he’d missed.

“That,” John pointed at the guy sitting beside Hercules, “is my roomie, Lafayette.”

Alexander let out a laugh. “That’s insane. Our roommates know each other?”

“Time to find out,” John said, sliding out of his chair. Alexander followed.

As they walked closer, he could clearly hear Hercules from behind the newspaper: “Shit, Laf, I think they’re onto us.”

“No, mon amour, they’re just leaving. Don’t make eye contact—John! What a coincidence!”

“Laf,” John greeted. “Alexander’s roommate.”

Hercules let out an awkward laugh. “Um.”

“So how do you know John’s roommate?” Alexander asked, coming to stand beside John.

“We work at the same place,” Hercules explained. He glanced at Lafayette, seeming to communicate with a glance, and added, “Actually, we’ve been dating for a month.”

Alexander gaped at him, and he and John began to voice their protests simultaneously.

“You _what_?”

“—without _telling me?!”_

“I thought we were friends—”

“Mon ami, please…how do you say…chill.”

John stuck his tongue out at Lafayette, who Alexander realised now was French, and retorted, “Laf, you know more slang than all of us combined.”

Lafayette smirked, before sticking his hand out towards Alexander. “Bonjour. I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, but my friends call me Lafayette.” He winked at Alexander, who was still busy processing the Frenchman’s name.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he replied as he shook Lafayette’s hand. _Damn, what moisturiser does he use?_ “And you two still haven’t told us how you know each other.”

Hercules shrugged slightly, sipping at the colourful concoction sitting in front of him. “He started working as a model at my clothing line, and we found out we’re soulmates.”

“ _What?”_ John screeched.

 Alex grabbed the newspaper out of Hercules’ hand and swatted him with it. “How could you not tell me? Us,” he added, seeing John’s glare. “How could you not tell us?”

Lafayette answered this time. “We wanted to keep things between ourselves for a little while,” he said, gazing sappily at Hercules, who returned his look with equal amount of love.

Just as Alex opened his mouth, one of the workers walked over to them, looking awkward. “Excuse me, sirs, but I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave. You’re disturbing the other customers.”

  

* * *

 

“Flash forward, and we’re takin’ on the world together…”

Alexander woke to the sound of John loudly singing in the kitchen. He blinked, waking himself up. When was the last time he’d slept so soundly?

There was sunlight filtering in through the gap in the blinds, and Alexander amused himself by waving his fingers through the dust that was now visible in the light. After a moment, he sighed and pushed himself up onto one elbow, running his hands through the mess of hair on his head. He tried to tie it up regularly at night, but half the time remembered too late to bother.

The clock on the bedside table read ‘8:21’, and showed the date to be the twenty-fourth of August. Today was a Saturday, then.

It suddenly sunk in. _Today’s Saturday._ It was a Saturday, meaning no work, and he had his boyfriend of about six months singing in the kitchen. And he was still in bed.

Leaping out and almost tripping on the sheets wrapped around his body, he headed straight for the bathroom. He didn’t want John to complain about morning breath. He contemplated multitasking dressing himself and brushing his teeth, and decided against it. The last time he’d tried that, they’d had to replace the shower screen.

Finally completing his morning routine, he walked into the kitchen. John was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. He was wearing the tourist cat T-shirt Alexander had bought for him when they’d gone on a trip to the beach together, and it made his chest feel all sorts of warmth whenever he saw it. His phone lay on the circular table by the window, blasting out music.

“…we got nothing figured out…” John alternated between humming and practically shouting, and Alexander thought it was the most endearing thing he’d ever witnessed.

He walked up behind John, clearing his throat to announce his presence so as to not startle him, and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Morning,” he murmured against John’s shoulder-blade.

He could see John’s mouth curl upwards into a soft smile. “Morning. I’m making pancakes.”

Alexander _mmm_ -ed in response. “Smells good. I can’t believe you have Taylor Swift on your phone.”

John turned around slightly in his arms. “Hey, no dissing my queen.”

“I’m not dissing! Just surprised, is all,” Alexander laughed, hands raised in the universal ‘I’m innocent’ gesture.

“Sing with me.” John prodded Alexander’s side with the handle of his spatula, making him yelp slightly.

“I don’t sing,” Alexander replied, trying to steal a pancake and failing.

“You can have a bite if you sing with me.” John beamed smugly, knowing the lengths Alexander would go to for food.

“That’s _evil_!” Alexander exclaimed mockingly. “You wouldn’t do that to _me_ , would you? You _love_ me.”

John snorted. “Yeah, I do.” With that, he placed the last pancake on the plate, threw Alexander over his shoulder, and carried him and the plate to the table. Alexander was frozen the entire journey.

“Uh, John?”

“Yeah, babe?” John smirked.

“You’re like, the same height as me. How are you doing this? _Teach me!”_

“’Lex, you’re the same weight as a teenager. It’s worrying, actually.”

“Don’t call me that, it reminds me of Lex Luthor.”

“Hear me out on—”

“John, _no!_ ”

“—misunderstood and if Clark had—”

“You’re basing all of this off the four seasons of _Smallville_ you watched! You didn’t even finish the whole show!”

“That’s not the point!”

“It’s exactly the point! You can’t judge him from one—”

“Yes I can! He was mmf—” The rest of what John was about to say was lost as Alexander shoved a pancake in his mouth.

After a long minute of silence, broken only by the sound of John chewing, he said, “You know, if this were a movie you would’ve kissed me to shut me up.”

“I can do that too…” Alexander purred, winking at him saucily.

This time John shoved a pancake into his mouth. “Save that for after breakfast,” he laughed.

Alexander’s breath suddenly caught in his throat. It was as if time was slowing down just enough for him to fully appreciate the moment. John was sitting beside him – not across, because it felt weird and date-like – and there was sunlight hitting the side of his face. It caught in his hair and made the curly locks glow slightly, reminding Alexander of the way his wrist had lit up when they had first met. His laughter was just like it’d been that day; loud and open, head thrown back and mouth wide.

When John looked back at him, opening his mouth, Alexander leaned forward and kissed him softly, placing his hand at the back of John’s head lightly to keep him in place. John made a surprised sound against his mouth, but kissed him back eagerly. He tasted of strawberry jam and maple syrup, and a hint of minty toothpaste. Alexander loved everything about him.

Leaning back, he smiled widely at his soulmate. “You’re awesome.”

John cocked his head to the side, confused yet pleased. “What brought this on?”

“Nothing,” Alexander replied honestly. “I just realised how lucky I am.”

“You’re not the only lucky one,” John replied, voice husky. “I am too.”

This time, their mouths met halfway, Alexander’s hand behind John’s head and his left holding onto the chair and keeping him balanced. John’s was fisted in Alexander’s hair, his body leaning into Alexander’s space and both doing what they could to prevent the other from falling (or breaking a piece of furniture again).

They were still kissing when Alexander opened his eyes for a millisecond and saw his timer. Three days left.

 

* * *

 

Alexander went out to buy an engagement ring the next day. He brought Lafayette with him to provide a second opinion, and because Lafayette had already done this a few weeks back and everything had worked out fine for him and Hercules. Alexander just wanted to know that everything would be alright with him and John.

They went to Burr and Sons, an old jewellery shop in town that had been established at some point in the nineteenth century. It was run by one of Alexander’s old acquaintances from university, Aaron Burr. He and Burr mayn’t’ve spoken in years, but Alexander knew he would give him good advice on rings. Burr was loyal like that.

“This place looks abandoned, mon ami,” Lafayette observed as they walked toward the shop. There were cobwebs handing from the ancient, ornate sign displaying the name, written in an old cursive font. The shutters were half-closed, and the door looked as though it hadn’t been touched in years. Altogether, everything had a very ghostly feel to it.

“No, he once told me that this way they don’t get robbed, and it only brings in customers who know of the business.”

“That business tactic would not work if he needed actual money from it.”

Alexander shrugged. Burr had a massive trust fund set up by his parents, and worked as a full-time lawyer too. He had no real need for the money from this place. “Nostalgia and keeping the family legacy,” he said. He knew what the burden of those felt like all too well.

A bell chimed as they walked in, taking refuge from the harsh breeze. The inside of the store was nothing like its exterior. It was brightly lit with soft white lights, making the jewellery in the cases shine. Unlike the majority of jewellery shops Alexander had been to – which was not many – there was enough space for a handful of couches along with a small play area for children. There was classical music playing in the background, a soft singing in a language Alexander didn’t recognise.

Walking up to the counter, he rang the bell and waited, looking around the place. Moments later, a man walked in briskly. He was wearing a three-piece suit, lapels lined with a deep purple and a silver watch adorning his wrist. He oozed power and wealth from his appearance and his posture. “Welcome to Burr and Sons. How may I help you?”

“Burr? Aaron Burr?” Alexander walked closer, his eyes crinkling as he grinned at his old classmate. “I’m—”

“Alexander Hamilton!” Burr stepped out from behind the counter, and grabbed Alexander into a hug. Alexander wasn’t expecting one, but he knew how any sort of school acquaintances felt closer after graduation. Either that, or they would make one bolt to hide behind a pole to avoid being seen. Evidently, Burr was the former.

“It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has been,” Alexander agreed, clasping his hands together and fighting the urge to fiddle with them. “This is my friend, Lafayette,” he said, gesturing to the Frenchman who stood behind him and had been observing the two quietly. “Laf, this is Aaron Burr. We were in uni together.”

Burr and Lafayette exchanged pleasantries, and Alexander shifted slightly, moving his weight from one leg to another and back. He was pleased to see Burr again, but that hadn’t diminished the nerves from the purpose of this trip. 

“What brings you both here?” Burr asked, drawing Alexander back to the present.

“I’m looking for an engagement ring,” he said, looking to see Burr’s reaction. God knew how many times this man had seen him with someone on his arm.

Burr didn’t comment, or even change his facial expression. “We have a range of rings here,” he led them to the other end of the room, “and there are some inside too. You can also design your own, but that’ll take longer. We do house engravings, which take about an hour, depending on the complexity.”

Alexander looked at the selection laid out before him. He’d had no preconceptions of a ring; his mind had remained traitorously blank whenever he tried to picture proposing to John, John’s hand with the ring on it, seeing it on John’s hand as he lay in bed or cooked or even waved to him…

Was he doing this because he had some misconception or assumption about his timer? If his timer had another six months to go, would he have waited longer? How much of this was to have control over what the timer was counting down to? And how much of this was because he loved John enough to propose to him six months after meeting him?

Alexander had tried his best to live an honest life. And that included himself. He knew that some part of this decision had been influenced by the watch on his wrist, but he knew himself. And he knew John. He was doing this for the right reasons.

“How about that plain one there,” he pointed to a thin golden band, simple and with enough room for the engraving he wanted. He glanced up at Lafayette, who nodded encouragingly but otherwise gave no response.

Burr took it out and he examined it, turning it over in his hands even though his mind was almost made. John had slender fingers, long and beautiful. Alexander could, without too much effort, see this on his hand. He slid it onto his pinky, admiring the way it glinted in the artificial light of the shop.

Taking it off, he handed it to Burr. “I’ll take it. And can you…” he fished around in his pocket, “engrave this onto it?" 

Burr took the slip of paper and studied it, frowning slightly. “Alexander, you realise this is a series of dots?”

Alexander ducked his head slightly, shuffling his feet. “Yeah, uh… It’s John’s freckles.”

Lafayette let out a booming laugh. “You have record of John’s freckles?”

Running his hands through his hair, Alexander muttered, “It’s a long story.”

“Well, this shouldn’t take too long. Feel free to wait here,” Burr said when he could see that Alexander wasn’t about to divulge the details. With that, he headed into the back of the store and left Lafayette and Alexander to wander around.

“Hey, Laf?”

“Yes, mon petit lion?”

“Were you nervous when you proposed to Herc?”

“Non. I knew he would say yes.” There was a pause as Lafayette looked at Alexander thoughtfully. “However, I _was_ nervous that you and Laurens would forget your roles and leave me standing there empty handed.”

Alexander threw his shoe at him.

 

* * *

 

There were two days and nine hours left on his timer, and every time Alexander glanced at it, he felt his heart rate increase. It wasn’t a sense of foreboding or anticipation; he just didn’t know how to deal with the sense of inevitability it brought on.

He began jumping at the smallest things: the alarm clock when he woke up a minute earlier caused him to leap upright and hit the bedside table with a pillow; he almost punched John when he was suddenly greeted with a hug as he walked in from work; any text messages from anyone at any time would cause his heartbeat to escalate; the coffee machine at the café became the bane of his existence purely because of the irregular sounds it made.

He walked into the apartment from an appointment at The Daily Telegraph the same day he bought the ring, who occasionally hired him to write specific articles. Toeing off his shoes and leaving his shoulder bag on the couch, he walked farther in, calling out John’s name as he went along.

When John didn’t answer the first five calls, he got nervous. When he didn’t answer the next five, he got _scared_.

Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he shakily unlocked it and called him, running through the house to make sure John wasn’t just asleep or wearing headphones and blasting music.

John wasn’t in the house.

John wouldn’t pick up his phone. 

Alexander didn’t know what to do. He frantically scrolled through his contacts until he found Hercules’ number.

“Yo.”

“ _Herc-have-you-seen-John_?” His words were rushed and high-pitched, and he barely recognised his own voice.

“No,” Hercules said, “What’s wrong?”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Alexander said, trying to calm himself down. “He’s usually home now, and he isn’t answering his phone and—”

“Alexander, breathe,” Hercules said in a soothing tone. He began counting with his own breaths, and after a while Alexander did the same. His breathing gradually grew less grew quieter, and he felt his brain reboot and approach the issue from another angle.

“It’s like seven p.m. and a Sunday, why would he be at the school?” he asked, basically talking to himself at this point. “He usually calls me if he gets called in on weekends…”

At that moment, the door of the apartment opened, and John walked in. Alexander let out a breathy sob at the sight of him in his ‘work clothes’, a shoulder bag slung around his shoulders, and his hair pulled back in a bun. He had smiled at the sight of Alexander standing there, but at the look on his face, quickly grew concerned. 

“Alexander?” he asked, walking closer. “Is everything okay?”

“He just walked in, Herc. Thanks,” Alex said, before ending the call. He turned to John and tried in vain to appear alright. “I— I just came home and you weren’t here so I— I—I panicked and—”

John rushed forward at that moment and grabbed him in a fierce hug. “I’m sorry. A kid was displaying suicidal tendencies, and is so incredibly messed up because of all this stuff from their parents and I should’ve called when I got called in…”

“I shouldn’t’ve panicked, it’s not even the first time they needed you on a weekend…” Alexander babbled quietly into John’s shoulder as he buried his face as deep as it could go.

“Hey,” John said firmly. “Don’t apologise. Let’s put on a movie and order in.”

Ten minutes later, they were both sitting on the couch with the first season of _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ on. Wrapped in three layers of fuzzy blankets, Alexander rested his head in John’s lap and savoured the feeling of having his hair played with.

He didn’t glance at his wrist, where he knew he’d find less than two days.

 

* * *

 

He had everything set up perfectly for when John came home on Monday. He’d used every candle in the house and turned the lights in the living room off. And he’d also made sure there were numerous buckets of water nearby, just in case.

He’d gotten rid of the normal junk that usually cluttered up the coffee table and placed a simple tablecloth on it, folded up into quarters to properly fit it. There were pillows – meant for sitting, which they’d bought during a massive sale and never used – placed on either end, and a small candle in the centre.

Alexander had prepared sushi – made by himself, not bought – and it was placed artistically on plates. There were three other dishes that he’d hidden under the table, placing them closer to his side in case John did something stupid like stretched his legs out underneath.

He heard the door being unlocked and hurried out to the hallway, frantically readjusting his tie. The door opened, and John walked in. He stopped for a second when he saw Alexander dressed up, forehead crinkling slightly.

“I didn’t forget a date night or anything, did I?” he asked, slightly nervously. He closed the door behind him, taking off his bag.

“Nah, I just have a surprise for you. Go wash up and meet me in the living room,” Alexander said, kissing him lightly before letting him go inside.

He was sitting in his spot, checking the candles to make sure nothing would combust, when John walked in. He was dressed up like Alexander, wearing a smaragdine sweater with his sleeves pushed up. His eyes widened as he took in the setting, and he made his way carefully to the centre of the room.

“What’s all this for?” he asked softly, gazing up at Alexander with candles reflected in his eyes.

“Can’t I do something nice for the love of my life?” Alexander said teasingly. He gestured to the food with his chopsticks. “Eat. I made it myself.” He allowed himself a smug smile at John’s awestruck face.

“Dude, how.” John shook his head. “You killed our microwave by heating up a boiled egg, and you’re telling me you can make perfect sushi?”

“That’s not all I made. There’s more after this." 

John gazed at him, then sighed in frustration. “If it weren’t for this damn candle – what scent is it, by the way? It’s fucking _awesome_ – I’d kiss you right now.”

“It’s called ‘little black dress’, and I bought it without even sniffing it ‘cos I thought it’d be cool to have a glittery black candle in the house.”

John blew out the candle and kissed him.

  

* * *

 

“Hey, John?”

They had just finished dinner.

“Yeah?”

Alexander got up, hands shaking slightly.

“Alexander?”

“John,” Alex began in a tremulous voice. “I didn’t even plan a speech for this, it was so sudden.” He chuckled nervously, licking his lips. “I want to spend forever with you. You’re my soulmate, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. You could’ve been a dick for all I knew…”

John watched him silently, not taking his eyes off him. 

Alexander bent down onto one knee. “But you aren't. You turned out to be the best man I know. You’re the brightest part of my life, the reason I wake up excited and go to sleep happy. You’re my best friend.”

He took a deep breath. “Will you marry me?”

John was wiping at his eyes, and he let out a wet chuckle. “Oh my God.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Yes. Of fucking course I will.”

Alexander smiled widely, reaching for John’s hand as he slipped the ring on. He watched as John admired the ring on his hand, until – “Holy shit.”

Alexander let out a laugh as John took the ring off and examined the engraving. “Is this…did you engrave my fucking _freckles_ from when the classroom shoe incident thing happened?”

“Mmhmm,” Alexander responded, smirking at him.

“You’re unbelievable,” John muttered, looking at him with wild eyes.

Alexander just had time to swallow before John practically pounced on him, placing a hand on the back of his head to keep it stable as he kissed him with everything he had.

Alexander responded in kind, surging up to meet him halfway. He cupped John’s face with his hand and placed the other on his waist, exploring his mouth as John explored his. This was familiar territory for both of them, but the exhilaration never diminished. He slid his tongue into John’s open mouth, hot breaths filling the heady air in between them. John shivered against him, trailing a hand down his chest and leaving a trail of firecrackers behind as he went.

“Room,” Alex panted, pushing himself up, doing his best not to break contact with John.

The two some made it to the bedroom without any incidents, only beginning stripping after they left behind the candles in the living room. Clothes flew around as they fought the urge to rip them off in their haste to get to one another, whispered curses as Alexander’s tie refused to come off quickly.

They fell backwards into bed, the mattress doing little to soften the blow as the air rushed out of John’s lungs with a _whoosh_. Alexander waited for a moment as he got his breath back, before ravishing him once more with kisses, trailing a path down his chest and smirking as he felt John’s body jerk beneath his. 

Suddenly, John flipped him so he was now lying flat on his back, hair fanning out on the pillow beneath his head as he gazed up at John’s face, breath coming in short pants. John’s touch was gentle as he caressed his skin, sending small fireworks going. Not wanting to be outdone, Alexander responded in kind, and John’s gasps nearly rendered him undone. His eyes were glazed over and pupils blown with pleasure, and Alexander felt the a distant sense of wonder at creating such a reaction in him.

John rocked his hips and there was a supernova exploding behind Alexander’s eyes, fire in his veins, his heartbeat skyrocketing with all the fury of a hurricane. His body arched against John’s, kissing him in an attempt to show him how he felt, how he’d always feel. To show him the fire John brought out in him.

As they lay in each other’s embrace afterward, John’s arm stretched out to pillow Alexander’s head, he saw the ring on his finger and felt a lightness in his chest that he’d never felt before.

 

* * *

 

Alexander whistled as he walked out of the café, his mood buoyant. Although working at the café was taxing on both his patience and energy, there were special moments that made it worth it. That, and the pay was pretty good. Good enough that he didn’t bother finding another job.

Walking back to the apartment, he passed by the flower shop. The owner had just begun packing up the displays outside when Alexander decided to be spontaneous and greet his fiancé – and didn’t that just send a thrill down his spine? – with a bouquet of roses. He picked out a bundle, including a few other flowers he didn’t know the names of but looked good with the crimson red roses he’d picked out, and continued home.

He’d just closed the door to the apartment when his phone rang. Cursing softly as he fumbled with the flowers, he got his phone out and furrowed his brows. It was an unknown number. 

He usually didn’t answer unknown numbers, but with a “what the hell”, he shrugged and picked up.

“Hello?”

“Is this Alexander Hamilton?”

“Yes.” Alexander put his bag down and walked to the kitchen to get a drink, wondering if this was perhaps a commissioner. They usually contacted him online, but this wouldn’t be the first time one had called him directly.

“…let you know that John Laurens was shot in a school shooting…”

Alexander heart skipped a beat. “I’m sorry, did you say school shooting?” he managed to get out before grabbing his wallet and keys and racing outside to call a cab.

 

* * *

 

John was in surgery when Alexander arrived. As he waited, he called Lafayette and Hercules, going through the motions and answering their questions numbly. They arrived moments later, and sat with him in the waiting room. There was silence between the three of them, each trapped in their own mind.

The whiteness and sterile scent of the building penetrated Alexander’s senses, bringing back memories of past hospital visits. None had ended well, but he had never stopped hoping they would.

Finally, a nurse came forward to inform them that they could visit John. Alexander stepped forward without hesitation, and was led to John’s room.

He paused at the door, chest tight as he took in the sight. John lay in the white hospital bed, looking tiny against the machinery that surrounded him. Alexander couldn’t see any bandages, but he knew that the bullet had gone in through John’s torso and lodged itself there. Apparently, John had saved the life of another student. He just wished someone had been there to save John.

Walking in, he sat down gingerly on the chair beside the bed. John’s hand was right in front of him, and he touched it with his fingertips. The only time he’d seen John so still was when he was in the midst of a deep sleep, and even then, his breaths made it so his body was in constant motion.

Now, he was silent and completely still, chest barely rising and skin almost entirely leeched of its colour. His eyes had sunk deep into its sockets, and his face appeared almost skeletal, freckles standing out vividly against the paleness of his body.

Alexander stifled a sob, and leaned forward until his head rested on his folded arms on the bed. He took a breath before sitting back upright. He needed to be stronger for John.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he whispered, unable to make his voice any louder. “But I need you to know… I love you. And I need you. I need you to wake up and fight this and get well and live so we can get married. I need you to—I just need you to wake up, okay?”

He stopped talking after that. Just stayed by John’s side as Hercules and Lafayette came in to see him, numb to his surroundings and oblivious to anything beyond John. He didn’t know how long he sat there, or if he was even awake the entire time. He just knew that he had to be there for when John woke up.

 

* * *

 

John Laurens died seven hours later, on Tuesday the twenty-seventh.

 

* * *

 

Alexander only noticed his timer had stopped later, as he was being ushered away from the hospital by Hercules.

 

* * *

He moved in with Lafayette and Hercules temporarily, unable to stand the emptiness of the apartment and memories that lingered from their life together. The candles were still there in the living room.

It took about a month before he could finally make himself go inside without either bursting into tears or becoming an emotionless husk. Hercules had first gone in to get his clothes and other necessities, and then he and Lafayette had both gone to clear up the living room. No matter how much time passed, Alexander knew he’d never be able to handle that room again.

He had borrowed Lafayette’s car for the day, and was packing everything up into boxes: a ‘keep’ box, a ‘throw away’ box, and a ‘John Laurens’ box. He felt like everything went into the third one, when in reality it was rather evenly distributed.

He entered their bedroom. The bed was still unmade from the morning they’d left the house, neither of them willing to do it up as they rushed around to leave for their respective jobs. John had given Alexander a lingering kiss as he left, promising to finish their debate on methods of turtle breeding later that day.

Alexander pushed all the memories aside as he methodically shoved items into boxes, stuffing half of John’s clothes into a black garbage bag to donate and keeping the rest for himself. Hell, they’d basically shared most of their clothing, especially the hoodies. John’s hoodies were what Alexander wore on bad days, good days, rainy days…any day that ended in a Y, honestly. They were warm, and smelled of John; a source of comfort.

 Now, he couldn’t bear the thought that one day their smell would faint and he’d lose another connection to him.

As he cleaned up the junk that had accumulated under the bed, he found a small wooden box. Alexander recognised it immediately; it was where John had kept all the photos, letters, birthday cards, et cetera, from his family. He didn’t know what he should do with it, but he opened it anyway, and froze for a second.

Sitting atop the pile of ageing family photos was an envelope addressed to him. He sat back heavily, cradling the box. Carefully, he took it out and opened it.

 _Alexander,_ it began.

He read through the contents of the letter, tracing each letter with a careful finger. Until he got to a sentence that made his insides curl.

John’s timer had ran down the minute they’d shaken hands at the rally, all those months ago. 

Alexander barked out a humourless laugh. The irony was unbelievable. John’s timer had counted down to the start of their relationship, while his to the end.

He placed the letter carefully in a separate bag, and carried on. And if he shed any tears, he blamed it on the dust floating around in the absence of maintenance.

 

* * *

 

He stayed with Hercules and Lafayette because he couldn’t bring himself to live alone or with a stranger. And while they tiptoed around him like he was a powder keg, they preferred to have Alexander somewhere they could see watch over him.

But his friends’ close proximity did nothing to assuage the grief Alexander felt. He lay around their home for days on end, only leaving to go to work. He turned down any offers to go out, and didn’t touch his laptop or phone, which buzzed with occasional messages from people looking to commission him.

He’d hear Lafayette and Hercules whisper in other rooms about him sometimes, expressing their worry, and a distant part of him was uneasy at distressing them further. 

He still did nothing. 

Until a few days later, when he went searching for a new book to read. He was slowly getting back into the habit of doing things that provoked memories of John, and Lafayette’s collection of French books had piqued his interest for the first time in weeks. He was looking through the cluttered bookshelf when he noticed a light green folder with his name written on it in Hercules’ bold handwriting.

Curious, he pulled it out and opened it. Inside was a collection of what appeared to be every piece he’d ever written. Letting out a ‘huh’, he dug deeper, smiling slightly at some. He’d forgotten about half of these; Hercules must’ve kept them from when they were first published. Alexander had always given him the first copy of every piece he’d written – whether it was on paper or by email – when they had lived together, and had never quite gotten out of the habit.

His breath caught as he found his article of the anti-Trump rally. There were so many memories, so many _feelings_ attached to this writing. He traced him finger over the photo of John from that day, alive and high from the adrenaline rush of punching the Trump supporter in the face. Alexander had found out later that the walkover he’d performed that day was the only thing he remembered from when he’d been a cheerleader.

He felt something fall on his thumb, and looked at it to see a drop of water. He’d started crying at some point. He didn’t force himself to stop. Looking at the image of John Laurens, he let himself mourn the loss of everything they could’ve been, if they’d only had time.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, John.” Alex tucked his hands into his pocket, head bowed against the wind. “You’re probably yelling at me from the afterlife for moping around so long and not visiting you.”

He let out a wet chuckle. “I guess I felt that coming here after the funeral was like confirming it, you know? Like I was really accepting you were gone.” He wiped at his eyes before continuing, “And I wasn’t ready for that then. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for it. I’ll always love you. But I can start to move on with my life now.”

Running a hand through his hair, he pulled out a piece of paper. “I wrote this a week ago. It’s about the stupid gun laws and the statistics of our school shootings in comparison to other countries with stricter laws.” He paused for a moment to gather himself. “I wrote it for you, to help stop this from happening to other people, but I wrote it for myself too. I’m gonna get back into writing. I’m starting classes at uni again in the fall, and I’m going to change the world.” 

He knelt down in front of John’s headstone, running his fingers over the writing. He placed the article there, weighed down with a bouquet of red roses, before standing up to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading =D 
> 
> I wrote this to get back at Lesty for killing off John in one of her fics (go read her stuff it's gr888)
> 
> The working title for this was 'Petty Revenge Fic #1' btw


	2. Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate ending to Tick Tock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This very random alternate ending was born because of Charcoal_Shavings, who commented this on the story:  
>  _"This is amazing, but like, what if John DIDN'T die and everyone was happy? You don't even have to change this one, just write another one where everything is the same except John lives because I can't watch my brothers if I'm crying. T_T"_  
>  I hope this makes you feel better =)
> 
> I haven't written Hamilton in /months/ (actually I haven't written anything in months this case of writer's block is the worst) so I'm both incredibly out of practise with writing and with the characters and the fandom, and I'm really sorry if it feels different to the first chapter.
> 
> Happy reading!

Alexander whistled as he walked out of the café, his mood buoyant. Although working at the café was taxing on both his patience and energy, there were special moments that made it worth it. That, and the pay was pretty good. Good enough that he didn’t bother finding another job.

Walking back to the apartment, he passed by the flower shop. The owner had just begun packing up the displays outside when Alexander decided to be spontaneous and greet his fiancé – and didn’t that just send a thrill down his spine? – with a bouquet of roses. He picked out a bundle, including a few other flowers he didn’t know the names of but looked good with the crimson red roses he’d picked out, and continued home.

He’d just closed the door to the apartment when his phone rang. Cursing softly as he fumbled with the flowers, he got his phone out and furrowed his brows. It was an unknown number. 

He usually didn’t answer unknown numbers, but with a “what the hell”, he shrugged and picked up.

“Hello?”

“Is this Alexander Hamilton?”

“Yes.” Alexander put his bag down and walked to the kitchen to get a drink, wondering if this was perhaps a commissioner. They usually contacted him online, but this wouldn’t be the first time one had called him directly.

“…let you know that John Laurens was shot in a school shooting…”

Alexander heart skipped a beat. “I’m sorry, did you say school shooting?” he managed to get out before grabbing his wallet and keys and racing outside to call a cab.

 

* * *

 

John was in surgery when Alexander arrived. As he waited, he called Lafayette and Hercules, going through the motions and answering their questions numbly. They arrived moments later, and sat with him in the waiting room. There was silence between the three of them, each trapped in their own mind.

The whiteness and sterile scent of the building penetrated Alexander’s senses, bringing back memories of past hospital visits. None had ended well, but he had never stopped hoping they would.

Finally, a nurse came forward to inform them that they could visit John. Alexander stepped forward without hesitation, and was led to John’s room.

He paused at the door, chest tight as he took in the sight. John lay in the white hospital bed, looking tiny against the machinery that surrounded him. Alexander couldn’t see any bandages, but he knew that the bullet had gone in through John’s torso and lodged itself there. Apparently, John had saved the life of another student. He just wished someone had been there to save John.

Walking in, he sat down gingerly on the chair beside the bed. John’s hand was right in front of him, and he touched it with his fingertips. The only time he’d seen John so still was when he was in the midst of a deep sleep, and even then, his breaths made it so his body was in constant motion.

Now, he was silent and completely still, chest barely rising and skin almost entirely leeched of its colour. His eyes had sunk deep into its sockets, and his face appeared almost skeletal, freckles standing out vividly against the paleness of his body.

Alexander stifled a sob, and leaned forward until his head rested on his folded arms on the bed. He took a breath before sitting back upright. He needed to be stronger for John.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he whispered, unable to make his voice any louder. “But I need you to know… I love you. And I need you. I need you to wake up and fight this and get well and live so we can get married. I need you to—I just need you to wake up, okay?”

He stopped talking after that. Just stayed by John’s side as Hercules and Lafayette came in to see him, numb to his surroundings and oblivious to anything beyond John. He didn’t know how long he sat there, or if he was even awake the entire time. He just knew that he had to be there for when John woke up.

 

* * *

 

Alexander’s focus on the world around him had narrowed down to just the hospital bed, and so with John’s hand in his, he rested his head on the side of the bed, watching as his timer ticked on and on. There were a few hours remaining, and he had no idea if they were counting down to John’s death.

No.

That was a lie, and he’d promised to never lie to himself.

He _knew_ it was counting down to John’s death. He knew it with a certainty he rarely gave thought to, a sort of gut instinct that he typically ignored in favour of logic.

But what else could it be? What other event could possibly warrant his _clock_ counting down to? So Alexander did nothing except lie there with his fiancé, whispering to him quietly in a voice he used when John came to bed after working late, swaying with a tiredness that went bone-deep but unable to switch his mind off for the night.

He told him all the things he’d never told anyone, probably would’ve held back for another few years or decades, but this comatose state felt like a desperate freedom that unleashed within him a flood of memories and moments he wanted to share with his partner.

And then, in the early hours of the morning, John’s heart monitor started beeping loudly.

Alexander startled up, and _when had he closed his eyes_? His heart pounded as he realised he’d spent what was possibly his last moments with John asleep, like an idiot, wasting his last chance to memorise John’s face and his hands and the way his hair fell about his forehead.

He wished he'd been born an artist like John was, so he could capture him in a way that was purely his, in a way a camera wouldn’t. 

He barely noticed it when he was ushered out, mind awash with white noise and the only sound registering was the shrillness of the heart monitor and his own harsh breaths. There was no one in the hallway – and even if there had been, Alexander was past caring – so he slid down onto the floor, and did the one thing he never had.

He prayed. 

It was a foreign concept, one that he’d always been the outsider in, but with John, he was willing to beg to God, or the universe, or whatever higher power there was. _Please, please, please…_

“Alexander,” said a voice from above him.

Comically, Alexander’s first thought was _God? Is that you?_ But when he opened his eyes, it was Hercules’ crinkled forehead that met him. He fought down the urge to let out a hysterical laugh, knowing how that would be taken. And he’d be damned if they made him leave John.

“It’s been hours,” Hercules said in that soft voice, like the slightest rise in volume would shatter the world around them. “They’re finally letting people in to see him.”

Alexander froze. “He’s—he’s okay?” he asked shakily, voice hoarse.

Hercules smiled slightly. “It looks like he’s gonna pull through.” 

Alexander had expected that this new might make him grin. He’d smile widely and throw his head back in laughter, staring up at the heavens and thanking each and every being he’d just begged to. His arms would reach out and embrace Hercules tightly, clinging to him in the same way he’d soon be able to cling to John’s living and breathing body.

But instead, it was as though a dam had burst inside him, and all the frantic emotions he’d locked up to deal with _later, later, later_ broke out and introduced themselves in the form of tears, leaking down his cheeks and pouring out of his mouth in sobs.

Hercules did what he was honestly best at, and hugged Alexander tight, wrapping him in a warmth that only he could provide. Alexander clung back for another few seconds, before he forced the tears away and wiped at his face with a sleeve. 

“Okay,” he said thickly. “I’m okay.”

Hercules released him, and then they stood.

“I can see him now?” Alexander asked hesitantly. _Schrödinger’s John_ , he thought distantly. As long as he was outside that room, John was both alive and dead, regardless of what new he heard. It wouldn’t be real to him until he saw it with his own eyes, touched him with his own hands.

“Yeah, buddy.” Hercules gestured towards the door. “You got like ten minutes. They don’t want to wear him out.”

Alexander nodded, before taking in a deep breath and walking in through the doors with all the determination of a soldier heading into battle. He didn’t know what to expect – he’d seen John a few hours ago, looking smaller than he’d ever seen him, but now he had no idea what he might look like.

He needn't have worried: John was in the hospital bed exactly how he’d been, sending tingles of déjà vu down Alexander’s spine. He still looked small, but then Alexander walked closer, and he shifted in bed to face him. 

And suddenly Alexander couldn’t get to him fast enough, this small movement stripping away everything that had been held in a fragile balance around him. Reaching the bed, he flung himself into the chair, wishing to be on the same level as John. And then his hands flew about, unable to decide whether to grab at one of his hands or cradle his face. The heart monitor was doing what appeared to be a decent job of tracking John's heartbeat, but Alexander wanted to check for himself...

John made the decision for him, shifting a hand slightly until Alexander held it between both of his own, revelling in the small warmth that radiated from John and indicated that he was _alive_. 

“I love you,” Alexander whispered. “I love you so much. I don't say it enough. You’re the strongest person I know. You’re gonna get through this in one piece, and you’re gonna be abso-fucking-lutely fine, you understand?”

John smiled, and it took everything in Alexander to not start crying on him right there. God, he’d almost lost this. He’d almost lost _John_.

He glanced at his wrist, lips forming a dark smile as he saw that the clock had run down to zero. And then he did the one thing he’d never thought of doing.

He showed his wrist to his fiancé, whose eyes widened in surprise, hand jerking in Alexander’s slightly.

“It ran down when your heart monitor went berserk,” Alexander explained. “You’re probably wondering if everything I did leading up to it running down was because of it, but it wasn’t. I proposed to you because I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face, finally feeling the tiredness seep into his bones. “And then today, when I got that call, I thought for sure that the timer was counting down to when you—” His voice choked - he couldn’t say it. Not now, maybe not ever. “But now I know. It wasn’t counting down to—to _that_. It was counting down to when you would _live again._ Ours isn’t a tragic story of death. We deserve a real story, a real _love_ story, that ends in happiness. This isn’t the end, this is just the beginning.”


End file.
